


a poison paradise

by usetheforce



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest Play, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usetheforce/pseuds/usetheforce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like looking at a living, breathing photograph of the past-- one that's smiling, right at him.</p><p>(not quite to porn yet, gimme till ch3, almost done!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as of ch2 not to the porn yet please forgive me, should be updated in a few days time so FAIR WARNING
> 
> prompt at the end

Outside a city hardly worth a name, Ben pays a pilot in the local currency, bartering in the local tongue. His identity is safely hidden behind a voluminous scarf and heavy hood. Here, he is not Ben Solo. Here, he is a whisper on the wind and nothing more. The shuttle takes off, with a deposit made to promise its return in the morning. It'll touch down a hald dozen cities over, where he'd made a tame visit to a gambling den.

When someone comes along asking about him--and they will, Ben knows from experience-- his presence there won't be suspect: he is his father's son, after all. 

It's true in more ways than one, he thinks bitterly, making a beeline towards a nondescript bar with no sign to speak of. Of course he would turn to drink to keep his demons at bay. He weaves between the stalls of a marketplace, the sun casting orange and violet on every surface, illuminating it warm and dreamlike. It's a quiet neighborhood, for now: all the windows are shuttered, only a few loiter in the alleys.

There's time yet, Ben thinks, for the night is still young. Sin has not yet reared its ugly head.

Dusty boots come to a halt soon enough, close enough to the bar to hear the scratching croon of a cabaret singer filter through the door as a patron takes his leave. (A Toydarian, wobbly on his wings, muttering.) It's not the first bar he's visited, but it  _is_ the seediest, a natural evolution of his desire to go out of sight and out of mind. Ben licks at the backs of his teeth, staving off hesitation with a sullen determination. He forges ahead and finds that the inside is no brighter than the twilight outside, and surprisingly quiet given how full it is. Only a fraction of the usual rowdiness is at play, the rest possesses a quiet sort of...  _patience_. Curious.

Pulling down his scarf, Ben opts for a seat at the bar rather than a booth, dark eyes roving over the crowd, drinking in the details. The aged singer in the corner. Mostly full tables, no one overtly aggressive. Just one bartender, Twi'lek and haggard--

"What'll it be?" she asks, her heavily ringed fingers tapping impatiently against the wood. And then, after a quick up and down: "We _don't_ accept credits."

He clenches his teeth and resists every urge to sit up straight in the face of perceived offense; a habit borne out of training as much as his temper. "Nothing special," he mutters, sliding several coins across the rough hewn counter. "Your current special is fine."

She tosses a lekku over her shoulder with a snort, and he burns a hole in her back with the strength of his glare. Ignoring the urge to trip her, Ben watches her fill a flagon with frothing lavender beer from the tap, a drink that's sure to be weak and distasteful. She casts _him_ a skeptical glance from the corner of her eye, and he looks down at his hands, wrapped to conceal bruised knuckles from sparring, lips down-turned in annoyance. He's better than her. He shouldn't need to be so secretive about it, and yet the _training_ implies otherwise.

Oblivious-- perhaps willfully so-- to Ben's fury, the bartender sets Ben's drink down in front of him, off to assist another patron without a moment of hesitation. She chats with another patron in what sounds like Huttese, significantly friendlier. Staring into his drink, Ben steels himself for a sip and _grimaces_  at the taste. He's steadily becoming sure that the only alcohol he can stomach is wine. 

Left in peace to his thoughts, Ben returns to inspecting his surroundings. A hallway illuminated by rich blue lights lays just past the door to the kitchens, a hint of stairs visible from his vantage point. He catches sight of a couple descending: him study and surefooted to her cautious and withdrawn. The dark-haired man presses her to the wall for a parting kiss that's both searing and _thorough_ , and Ben ducks his head to force his gaze away. He just looked so much like...

 _You can't be so intrusive_ , Luke's voice lectures in his head, arising unbidden in disappointed tones,  _the whole world is not yours for taking._  The words that were a litany Ben knew too well. The Temple stilled at night, going as quiet as a graveyard. Neither meditation nor sleep were effective balms for his insomnia, and so Ben often found himself creeping out of bed at night to wander the halls like some sort of overgrown cat. One night, perhaps two or three years ago, Ben had stumbled into a conversation that had not been his to hear, one that seared into his mind as if it were a brand.

 

" _He's always testing his boundaries, Han," Luke sighs into the comm, quiet, weary, and it's too hard to hear what his father says back, no matter how hard Ben strains. "He's... He's ornery on a good day and insufferable on the bad. S_ _ound familiar?"_

_It's a compliment and an insult all at once, to both him and his father, and yet Ben finds himself more defensive for Han's sake than his own._

_"No, no. Don't worry. He's a good kid. A **great** kid. You wouldn't believe half the stuff he can do with the Force."_

_Luke sighs again, and Ben's never heard him so exhausted._

_"I know. I know that. But does he? You know he misses you and Leia both, but **you** especially. You're his **father** , Han. It's different."_

_Ben bites his lip too hard, and his fingers clench into fists, nails pressing in so tight against his palms that they draw blood, little specks of red he'll find later, dotting beneath his nails._

_"Yeah, I know. I know. Han, it's just that_ _I'm his Master, I can't give him the things he needs like you can--"_

_He can't listen to a word more. He scrambles back and absconds back to his quarters, footsteps too-loud in empty corridors. It was just too unreal to listen to his dad and his mentor talk about him with an intent focus, like he truly is the struggling disappointment that Ben knows he is._

_But that's not even **it.**_

_The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and Ben clings to it as he slides to the floor._

_There's_ _no way that Luke **knew** , no matter how much it had sounded like it. Ben shuts his eyes, breathing hard, and tries to forget **again.**  He'd done everything he could to bury it, even to himself. _

 _To someone normal, the words_ _would have just been safe. Familial. **Platonic**._

_Ben smothers a despairing wail in his sleeve, looking at the picture on his nightstand from a distance. A picture of his parents and their cohorts on the Millennium Falcon. It's at least fifteen years old by now, faded and dog eared from before it was in a frame. His mother looking more regal than ever, and his father--_

_Ben slams it down with the Force in a single movement, not wanting to stare at his father's accusing face._

_Ben's always been everything **but** normal._


	2. Chapter 2

A brash voice pulls him out of the memory, too loud in Ben's ear.

"Hey, Vyn! We got any of that Corellian wine left?" He sounds so hopeful, whoever he is, but Ben keeps his head down and takes another pull from his drink. No need to draw any _further_ attention to himself; he's just here to sit and do anything but think, not that he's done a very good job of it. 

The twi'lek barks a laugh, waving a hand at the man. "Not a _chance_ , Milo. You know as well as me that you drank it all last night after you scored with that bounty hunter. Don't get another shipment for a _month_. Now," Vyn says, snapping her fingers at him and pointing to a bar stool, "sit down so I can fix you a drink, or get back to work. Which'll it be?"

Milo gives a sigh, half-beleaguered but mostly pleased. He takes the seat to the right of Ben, at absolute ease. He can see the boisterous man in his peripheral and it takes nearly _every_ muscle in his body to keep himself from leaping out of his seat. It simply couldn't  _be._

"Fine, fine. You drive a harsh bargain, Vyn. You gonna tell me what's in it this time, or do I just have to guess?" As he talks, white noise starts to envelop Ben like some sort of gossamer gauze. He's tongue tied without even having made the _attempt_ to speak. The sideways look has turned more into a unsubtle stare, even though he  _knows_ better. He  _knows_ he should look away, but Ben is simply too busy tracing the planes of a face he'd memorized a long time ago.

It doesn't go without notice. Milo has the gall to  _wink_ at him, the grin on his face slow and smug. A blush flares to life across the bridge of Ben's nose, formed from shame and fury all at once. The resemblance is beyond uncanny. With that vest and those boots and that _face_ \-- 

It's like looking at a living, breathing photograph of the past-- one that's smiling, right at him. 

With the wash of familiarity comes a hurt like an old wound torn anew, gutting Ben from the inside out all over again. Milo might _look_  like his father did a decade ago, but he's not the Han Ben knows for so many reasons. 

(The Han Ben knows doesn't want to look him in the eye. Doesn't talk on comm with him nearly at all. Goes out of his way to avoid his-- obligations, now that Ben is grown. It would be easier, if Ben could doubt the love between them. But he knows better-- they _both_ know better-- and that made it all the harder.)

Vyn snorts as she pours liquids of varying shades into a martini shaker, "Don't be that way. Do you  _really_ want to know the answer to that question, or do you want a _drink_?"  She brings it over to him with a toothy smile. 

"When have I  _ever_ turned down a drink?" he asks, feigning offense, before draining it all from the metal shaker in one go, spluttering afterwards with a grin.

Ben bites at his lip, chewing it relentlessly, hesitation catching in his chest. _Truly_ , he should go. For his sake, for his _sanity_. But maybe he could-- do. Something.  _Befriend him_ sounds imbecilic even to his own ears, and the very idea makes the tips of his ears go red in premeditated mortification. What purpose would it serve? It wouldn't get him back his father. It wouldn't make him feel any less alone. Any less  _abandoned_.

No, it was best if he just left, and notably marked this place as a  _do not visit_ on his own personal map. Mind made up, Ben stands to leave, fully intending to leave his beer half finished and just stay elsewhere for the night.

As he turns to go, though, a strong hand reaches out to encircle his bony wrist. The grip is warm and firm.

"Hey, kid," Milo drawls, and Ben slowly turns his head to look at him with uncertain dread, every muscle in his body tensed. His heart hammers in his chest, thunderous in his own ears. What little he's had to drink isn't enough to stop his capabilities with the Force, but Ben has no desire to fight this man. That sentiment was returned in kind, it seemed, as The Han-That-Was-Not-Han just _leers_  at him, peering hard at Ben's shadowed face, lip quirked upwards.  "Saw you looking. Unlike the rest of this backwater establishment, _I_ take credits if you're buying what I'm selling."

Terror creeps up Ben's spine, insidious. He should say a lot of things, right now. Things like _you have the wrong idea_. Things like _you look like my dad_. Anything, to steer this speeder crash of an encounter somewhere better. But, instead, Ben swallows thickly, and says nothing at all-- he simply nods in silent acquiescence, because the words that ache to slip from between his teeth and tongue are _traitorous_.

Smiling, Milo pays his tab without letting go of Ben, warm thumb rubbing circles against his skin, trying to soothe the racing pulse beneath it. It's safe, he tells himself, no one knows him here at all. He's nothing. He's _no one_.

It's never been such a relief.

**Author's Note:**

> for [this](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=507194#cmt507194) prompt:
> 
> When Ben first started to fall to the dark, or when he abandoned Luke and his training, he ends up in a lot of seedy places.
> 
> In one of those places, he finds a prostitute who is the spitting image of his Dad when he was younger (think OT age), and after a little internal torment, he decides to pay him, just for a night, to get this weird ache out of his system.
> 
> And then it keeps happening.
> 
> Bonus;
> 
> \- Kylo is the false name he gives this man, and it's the first time he's used it.  
> \- He never stops imagining his own father, doesn't fall in love with the prostitute.  
> \- He calls the man Dad.


End file.
